‘Before that,’ said Miss Archer. ‘She’s coming down to dinner—at eight o’clock. Don’t you forget a quarter to seven,’ she added, turning with a smile to Ralph.

‘What’s to happen at a quarter to seven?’

‘I’m to see my mother,’ said Ralph.

‘Ah, happy boy!’ the old man commented. ‘You must sit down—you must have some tea,’ he observed to his wife’s niece.

‘They gave me some tea in my room the moment I got there,’ this young lady answered. ‘I’m sorry you’re out of health,’ she added, resting her eyes upon her venerable host.

‘Oh, I’m an old man, my dear; it’s time for me to be old. But I shall be the better for having you here.’

She had been looking all round her again—at the lawn, the great trees, the reedy, silvery Thames, the beautiful old house; and while engaged in this survey she had made room in it for her companions; a comprehensiveness of observation easily conceivable on the part of a young woman who was evidently both intelligent and excited. She had seated herself and had put away the little dog; her white hands, in her lap, were folded upon her black dress; her head was erect, her eye lighted, her flexible figure turned itself easily this way and that, in sympathy with the alertness with which she evidently caught impressions. Her impressions were numerous, and they were all reflected in a clear, still smile. ‘I’ve never seen anything so beautiful as this.’

‘It’s looking very well,’ said Mr Touchett. ‘I know the way it strikes you. I’ve been through all that. But you’re very beautiful yourself,’ he added with a politeness by no means crudely jocular and with the happy consciousness that his advanced age gave him the privilege of saying such things—even to young persons who might possibly take alarm at them.

What degree of alarm this young person took need not be exactly measured; she instantly rose, however, with a blush which was not a refutation. ‘Oh yes, of course I’m lovely!’ she returned with a quick laugh. ‘How old is your house? Is it Elizabethan?’

‘It’s early Tudor,’ said Ralph Touchett.

She turned toward him, watching his face. ‘Early Tudor? How very delightful! And I suppose there are a great many others.’

‘There are many much better ones.’

‘Don’t say that, my son!’ the old man protested. ‘There’s nothing better than this.’

‘I’ve got a very good one; I think in some respects it’s rather better,’ said Lord Warburton, who as yet had not spoken, but who had kept an attentive eye upon Miss Archer. He slightly inclined himself, smiling; he had an excellent manner with women. The girl appreciated it in an instant; she had not forgotten that this was Lord Warburton. ‘I should like very much to show it to you,’ he added.

‘Don’t believe him,’ cried the old man; ‘don’t look at it! It’s a wretched old barrack—not to be compared with this.’

‘I don’t know—I can’t judge,’ said the girl, smiling at Lord Warburton.

In this discussion Ralph Touchett took no interest whatever; he stood with his hands in his pockets, looking greatly as if he should like to renew his conversation with his new-found cousin. ‘Are you very fond of dogs?’ he enquired by way of beginning. He seemed to recognize that it was an awkward beginning for a clever man.